trying on a metaphor
tannertan36
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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JVL
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Show & Tell
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
will byers stan first human second
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Cosmic Funnies
Not today Justin
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RMH
ojovivo
Love Begins
wallacepolsom
YOU ARE THE REASON
titsay
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
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@voidseyes-blog
It’s happened again. Someone’s pulled the rug out from under you; an empire at your feet, and you’ve lost it all. Be honest: did you really deserve any of it? More important: what would you do to get it back? Careful. There’s always a price to pay. What you decide will ripple across the years; blood in the gutters and corruption on the wind. It’ll be fun watching this unfold. What will you do with this power I’ve given you? How will you make your mark–
ON THIS WRETCHED WORLD?
"She's a five star rating soap opera and he's subscribed af" I LOVE YOUR TAGS WTF
if you have to come to my blog for only one reason, let it be the tags.that’s where the art truly is.
aphotheosis:
If there is one thing she knows, it is death. Knows it. Yearns for it. Death is as familiar and comforting to her as an old friend who comes over for afternoon tea. Death, as she knows it, is not a light at the end of a tunnel with souls of the dearly departed waiting on the other side; death comes like the high tide, unrushed, unhurried, washing its primordial, mesmeric whispers further and further up the shores of life in rhythmic waves that threaten to drag her out into the abyss.
This is not that place. Sheila remains where she is, inherently mistrustful of suspicious strangers lingering at the end of long corridors offering their unsolicited insight.
“I did not come into this world by choice. I was someplace else only a few nights ago. Something’s wrong if I’ve been brought back here again.”
“And what is ‘here’? Do you even know, or is that just hope talking?”
She’d seen it all before, the countless times when she lied there, the sound of her own fading heartbeats drumming in her ears. The dark creeping into her vision, the overwhelming need to succumb to exhaustion… Death was her faithful companion, selfish thing. Possessive thing. It’d never allow her the peace she sought.
“I thought you would’ve let go of that by now, but you’re always so full of surprises. This isn’t a place where you can finally be put to rest: no calm before the storm, limbs robbed of that heavy cold – nothing to console you as you lie there, sucking in your last and violent breaths. You’re not dead. That would be too easy.” The Outsider moved forward, and when he looked to her, it was as though he saw everything. Inquisitive, he ventured, “But it’s the least you deserve, isn’t it? Life’s been cruel to you, Sheila.”
imperialvoid:
There is an odd feeling that bubbles in her hot throat, not jealousy of power, nor anger at the GOD or resentment towards her own ignorance. But it was something she didn’t like, something she knew she wasn’t supposed to feel. He was right, in a way, as omniscient beings should be ; but his entire manner of speech irked her to the core — from the way he delivered his lines to the cryptic word choice. It was a wonder how her FATHER managed to put up with all this for all the years he had that MARK on his hand.
❝ Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s because I’m at my worst, and maybe I am. But you’re a fool in thinking I don’t know what suffering is. To have everything you’ve ever known — taken from you in an instant. You’re a GOD ; what would you know about pain? ❞
She was so much like him with that fire in her eyes and that certainty in her voice… This was the image of the scorned fit to slaughter and rule. Like father, like daughter.
For a spell, The Outsider simply sat, watching. When he finally rose from his seat, the being stalked closer, all dark eyes and gangling limbs. It was unsettling. “I’ve watched this world before the first bricks of your kingdom were set,” he started. “The workers crushed under stone, their pitiful shouts following them to their early graves. I’ve seen men die in ways you’ve only read about in those winding lessons, back when all you could do was hide in your room, waiting as your father did all the dirty work. Do you remember them?” He stood within an arm’s reach now, but, God, what misfortune would befall her if she dared touch? “I do: in the form of a sharpened blade, tied down to a slab. You haven’t lost everything. Yet.” But perhaps soon, just as he did. “I’d watch my step if I were you.”
arielshepard:
SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE
There is a small laugh from her. It is a rumble, a low & dark sound. Somewhere in the Universe, there is a star cluster dying to that sound, that deep & unfathomable awful sound. Boiling shadows drag behind her as she walks behind him, they cling to the fabric of her long robes that touch the ground. Her hand touches his as though to reassure him that he need not to worry about her. ❝ My designs stretch across millennia & eons. I rest often. I rest when I want to dream, which is also often. ❞
A lonely world, made for a lonely boy. She knows how he came into being, how the Void chose him & gutted him, made him a hollow, made him a husk. It made him a house to hold all its emptiness. They all had to suffer at one point, those who are blessed & he is blessed.
❝ I hear the songs of stars, their last screams as they explode or when their own gravity crushes them, the last melodies they ever utter when I eat them. ❞ She tells him this as they look out at the visions of the cosmos the Void gives. The Milky Way is her capital. Soon she will acquire Andromeda. It will be a beautiful conquest, civilization facing their destiny, organic life understanding its ultimate fate: to be harvested. Talons idly trace the bones in his wrist. He says he can’t imagine all the noises she injects into people’s heads or the dark chatter of her machines, it makes her smile even more. ❝ Ah, the only thing I sacrifice is time. It is a sacrifice I am willing to make. So long as there are no more of these long absences. ❞
“But that doesn’t sound right, does it?” he asks. “People dream of greedy coin and wretched love, of power even gods would gladly die for. They spend their nights in the comfort of impossibilities, but you’re too busy chasing futures, aren’t you, grand Mashiach?”
It’s curious, the nature of these two horrors. How could nightmares look so different?
The Void God lives to his name: he is lifeless in many ways, a troubling omen that inspires wars of faith. His followers had grown mad from the songs of his world, and those that despised him slew them by the dozen. He is empty, light withered and snuffed, but she still burns bright. Be it the glow from the fire in her belly, or the brilliance of imploding stars, the death of a universe simply adds to her radiance. But The Outsider is no emperor, and over four-thousand years in age, he’s seen all there is to see… How kind to think him so blessed.
She is the first that walks beside him, not for his blessings or secrets, and not for some vain attempt at deicide. Ariel draws circles in his wrists, and he accepts it as they watch jagged earth and rocks come together in an imitation of her empire. It is vast, even here. “I’m never far,” he says in something akin to poetic comfort. It’d make a sane man sick. “You can chase me on those nights when you’ve finally laid your head to rest, or find me in the most abandoned corners of your universe.” Yes, his shrines are now so few. “The years have gone, and with it, the incessant pleas of the desperate all vying for my attention.” Oh well. “If you call my name, I may just hear it.” And he’ll come. Always.
What aspects or traits do you think whale boy is particular drawn to? What things do you think disinterest him?
I’d say The Outsider is most interested in those things that stand apart from the established norm. He’s lived a remarkably long time and there isn’t much left that has the potential to surprise him anymore – sometimes, he thinks nothing will manage to ever again. He endures stretches of centuries of absolutely nothing, marking people that have the potential to alleviate his boredom. Most times, it works, but only to accomplish the smallest reprieve; it isn’t substantial in any sense of the word.
Everyone just proves all too predictable. Jealous. Angry. Greedy. Violent. They’re not qualities he likes, discarding those who harbor them more so out of boredom than disgust (though, arguably, it is blend of the two). Those with power often abuse it, and that is a lesson he learned when he was still a human boy, a lesson that stands tried and true after all these years. His marked are often those that are ambitious or have been wronged, and they use their newfound abilities to spill blood or satisfy nasty cravings. It’s so simple, but really, what draws The Outsider the very most is goodness. Kindness. Mercy. A leveled head and a calm demeanor. Someone who can use his gifts to right wrongs without falling a single corpse is not a person who comes every century. They put on a show for him by changing the world without savage means, a habit man has taken to from emperors and kings down to beggars and thieves.
He wants to be entertained, to watch the world twist around someone’s finger, but he always likes pleasant surprises. In this way, it’s like he wants to be proven wrong. What’s more, he delights in it when someone does. It relates to that saying: you think you’ve seen it all.
imperialvoid:
Cold and dark, mysterious and elusive : THE VOID. A place with no stars, no sky, no form or being. And yet there was something about it that made her skin curdle not with fear, but with a very foreign and yet familiar sort of curiosity. It was almost morbid.
A flash of ash and dust and mystery, and the shape of a young man with eyes blacker than black, darker than the lowest ABYSS of the seas.
❝ You should know, though I use your GIFTS, that I am not your servant. I am not your slave or your vassal. ❞
Go on: marvel at the mysteries of the Void. So often did it whisper such wicked secrets, and like a moth to a flame, she’d flocked to it. No surprise. She was the fair Empress, after all, the very center of the world, and a crowned woman should always know all.
“You sound so sure of yourself. Years of sitting on a throne will do that.” Darkly, he murmured, “You’ve grown used to having your way.” Comfortable. Complacent. “So when your empire was torn from your very hands, you accepted an offer you couldn’t refuse -- and look at you now. Some people would call a debt a contract, and as the bodies began to fill the streets, your father lost and trapped in stone, you made your choice.” Branded. Marked. “And it was your hand that signed it, young empress.”
If I'm corgi attano does that make you the meowsider?
don’t make me suplex u into the void
sing me a song; some shanty sweet enough to make a leviathan love again.
wreckstars:
willow knows she’s not a god, but there have been moments she was god-like. this is not one of them. she’s human. something fragile placed under an immense weight — and she’s breaking … but not afraid.
❝ no. i don’t see them. there’s too many. i see one — a human boy. he comes in my dreams. burns alive over and over and over. i was looking him in the eye when he died. and i do blame myself, for all the billions. all the trillions of lives lost. all the planets that were decimated. razed. i couldn’t save them all, so i put the importance of one life over another and made choices. i chose who lived and who died. ❞ like a dam broken, willow cannot stop what she started. cannot prevent the words, which are spoken with undeniable numbness, that fall from between teeth normally clenched so tight.
❝ have you ever killed anyone? ❞
"And what would that achieve?” He should smile at the question, toothy and sinister like the monster in the stories, but The Outsider doesn’t. “I’ve watched the world for a long time, seen the rise of countless emperors and their rule over desperate subjects. Bloody reigns and year-long wars, the petty murders of a lover’s feud-- It’d make no difference.” Then, clever and cruel, he finishes, “You do just fine without me.”
Yet, she’s only human no matter how grand she is, and the power of a god is a burden too great. “But choosing which stories go on and which end in a blazing climax-- It’s worn on you, Willow. You say you choose the most important ones, but you think of how that boy went up in flames, and I don’t think even you’re that sure anymore.” The Outsider sees a lifetime of struggle in the line of her shoulders, but her eyes -- wild and strong -- speak of conquest. She is a deadly tragedy, and he is prying. “Is that how you made your choice back at Virmire?” He is cutting. “I wonder if his family would agree.”
cleansedhands:
Corvo stands, impressively tall and scowling. The Outsider has always been fond of his cryptic little speeches, of playing with lives like a child bearing down on an ant hill with a magnifying glass just to see which way he can make them scurry. Corvo knows his type–men with power. But there’s also an element of unease. It’s a kind of power he’ll never be able to comprehend or fight against.
“ Is there a point to all of this? ” he grits out, resisting the urge to rise to his bait and be a lesser man. That’s not him. It’s never been him.
It’s as the saying goes: the bigger they are, the harder they fall, and my, how mightily has the Lord Protector fallen. Again. The world so delighted in his anguish, didn’t it?
“There is,” The Outsider answers, unperturbed, “and I can’t promise you’ll like it.”
“For someone who’s devoted his life to the defense of his royal crown, you’ve watched two fall right before you. You’re slipping, but there is a silver lining.” Without warning, the god disappears, lost in the darkness. “Young Emily Kaldwin, daughter to the beloved Jessamine Kaldwin, has yet to hit the ground as a lifeless corpse -- just as her mother had. She haunts you, but for how long?” His marked is quiet, but he is quieter, and suddenly behind him, The Outsider’s voice hits like an omen. “I hope you're prepared to lose her again.”
+ @whvler
“Discarded, tossed aside in the gutters with the death and decay. Rats boring in the bodies, corpses littering your feet... How many times have you been thrown away?” His parents left him to the hounds of an unforgiving world: first a refuge where a child’s dreams came to die, then the bloody streets who’d no love for the sinners and the heretics. “No one knew what to do with you.” The Outsider saw it all, the young Thomas a sad and woeful thing before he felt the weight of a blade... Before he found his place beside Daud. But how long would that last? “Who’s to say it won’t happen again?”
+ @wreckstars
“You see them, don’t you, the faces of every living thing you failed.” My, it had been quite the show. The way Earth swam in flames, swallowed whole in a symphony of death cries… It must have been so much worse up close, leaving the slaughter like a scene of a crime. “They reached to you with their arms outstretched and bloody palms open, scrabbling for a chance that you’d save them from their fate. I wonder how it must have felt to watch their only hope leave them to rot.” The Outsider sat calmly above her, the Void darker than her black sea of stars. “But you can’t blame yourself, can you? You can’t save everyone.”
+ @aphotheosis
“You live through life a ghost, too stubborn to leave this cruel and miserable world. No one remembers your name – sometimes, I don’t think even you do.” The Outsider stood at the end of a winding corridor, walled in by towers of blackened earth. There was no way for her but forward, toward the ghastly voice whose words were cold. Unforgiving. “Does the thought keep you up at night, tossing and turning as you howl in the dark? Admit it -- it’s crossed your mind before: You could have never existed at all. It makes no difference.”
finelendal:
depths she stood within shadows, realm that was not her own. it was neither COMFORTING nor alarming. the dark lady knew of where she was; he was neither an ally nor a friend, but perhaps something between the two, perhaps not. just that it had been SOMETIME since they’ve crossed paths. eyes of utter RED, glowing, watched her surroundings, TAKING in all that was around her, ‘ we meet again, && under such familiar circumstances… ‘ sylvanas kept her voice steady, drawing her BOW && arrow would be not an option.
“Sylvanas, old friend. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten the sound of my voice.” There was a humored lilt to his words, playful and teasing in a way that’d unsettle any man. Truly, who’d forget something so damning? The Outsider grinned as he walked down toward her, curtains of smog grounding him as he moved. "But I haven't forgotten yours,” he continued. “The anger and fury, the way revenge twisted the words in your mouth... It’s enough to bring men to nightmares -- and it has.” Leaning in, he was close enough to feel, that cold on his skin. “How many bodies have you felled in the recent months?”
Just a note: On this blog, my representation of The Outsider will be an even blend of both his Dishonored and Dishonored 2 iterations. I say this only because, between the two games, there is a relatively inconsequential tweak to his personality that, nonetheless, dramatically changes The Outsider’s behavior – in my opinion, anyway.
Here, The Outsider will remain painfully aloof and out of reach. Like in the first installment, the deity will express everything with clinical detachment, both to the world and his beloved marks. He was revealed to us as a being who cares not for you, but for what entertainment you could provide for him. Most important is this: your choices and their consequences – good or bad, it matters little – are the very things he delights in. So a few heads may roll, sure, and what if yours lies amidst the mix? It doesn’t matter to him. This element to The Outsider’s character, I find, was the most subdued in the second installment.
And when he does visit the dreams of his chosen few, he will remain condescending – though perhaps not intentionally. Not quite. The Outsider is painfully honest, and he will strike low blows as if to remind you that, yes, the world is an ugly, ugly place, and you should have never forgotten. If your decisions stun him – thrill him – he will watch you ever so closely, showering you with petnames and praise like an old and dear friend. If you prove yourself boorish or typical, you won’t ever hear his voice again; he’s tossed you aside, a useless thing that’s already served its purpose.
All the same, The Outsider will show a more playful personality – or maybe conniving is a better word, even mischevious or devilish. In Dishonored 2, he wasn’t just a god that delighted in toying with his marked, but he embraced the role and acted on it, too. He’d made the Void his realm moreso than before, lounging on jagged rocks and prowling endless chasms like the vast expanse of nothing was his home. And it was. But always remember, even as his guest, it is only by his ‘good grace’ that you are ever allowed to enter. Mind your manners; you’re in his world now.
+ @rotwar
“Gabriel Reyes. Welcome home.” Oppressive and suffocating, the prevailing weight of nothing was enough to smother lungs… Yes, the dreadful sensation of dying crept in bones here. “But you’ve never been here before, have you? It’s just as well: the winding shadows and desperate cold – It’s like you’re drowning all over again, but you never stopped, did you?” Forever teetering on the edge of damnation, cursed and undying… A monster’s fate. “You’ve changed. If only the man you were before could see you now. What would he say? Would he shudder in disgust?” Finally appearing in curtains of smog, the god sharply finished, “Or would he blame himself for letting it all happen?”
